


i just wish you also felt like this

by thermocline



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Breathplay, Developing Relationship, F/M, Femdom, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 22:06:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17232062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thermocline/pseuds/thermocline
Summary: Simone has a confident and discerning taste for the things she cares about, the things she wants to fuck her up really, really well.Brian isn’t really sure how he made it onto that list.





	i just wish you also felt like this

**Author's Note:**

  * For [engine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/engine/gifts).



> [hisses very quietly] you never saw me here. this is obviously a work of fiction, if you or anyone you know is mentioned please turn back now don't interact thanks!
> 
> there is sex under the influence in this, but it's consensual, and assumed that they'd both expected/planned sex beforehand. title is from 'skin' by soccer mommy which is the perfect song for this, in my humble onion.
> 
> uhh i need polygon friends so find me on twitter @barrelchests, since this isn't tied to any pseud. unbeta'd, sorry for the sin. enjoy.

Simone’s apartment is clean-ish and covered in blankets.

 

It’s not super justified, what with the east coast not getting a real cold snap yet. Today hit almost fifty, with not more than a day at a time falling under thirty degrees. 

 

No matter. The easier weather means that they can crack open a window and unwind together with a smoke and some Chopped reruns.

 

Simone sits atop a small mountain of quilts and throws, dressed in a sweater and shorts, packing the bowl that Brian always makes fun of her for, the one shaped like a stout little unicorn, legs and all. 

 

Brian, meanwhile, is sitting at a safe distance on the couch. There’s a weird tension, after earlier this week. He’s pretty sure he wants it to happen again. He’s certain that he isn’t allowed to ask.

 

“Come,” she beckons, tugging Brian forward by the collar of his shirt. Brian inhales, watches her fingers move as she lights the bowl, eyes fixed on her mouth as she takes a drag. 

 

It would be cute if he was any better at turning off the embarrassing bluster he gets when alone with her. It would be cute if he wasn’t dry-mouthed every time she tugs his shoulders up to correct his posture as she walks by in the office.

 

Mostly, it just feels desperate.

 

But it’s been over a week. Brian doesn’t care.

 

He doesn’t wait for her to pull him. He leans in, opens his mouth, lets her shotgun the hit, fills his throat with the acrid burn of whatever indica she’s into right now. It’s a little lemony, a heady and grounded type of strain all in one. 

 

It’s no surprise, given how specific she demands her red wine. Simone has a confident and discerning taste for the things she cares about, the things she wants to fuck her up really, really well.

 

Brian isn’t really sure how he made it onto that list.

 

“Stop thinking,” Simone murmurs. Her eyes are half-closed. She drags a thumb over Brian’s lower lip. “Isn’t that why you showed up in the first place?”

 

“Yeah,” Brian admits, low, and avoids her gaze. She tilts his chin up. Clearly she won’t have it.

 

“Here,” Simone offers. She lights it, takes another hit, seals her mouth over Brian’s and sighs softly as she exhales the smoke into his mouth. Her lips are soft, hand warm on his shoulder. Brian wants her hands – wherever she wants to put them, honestly.

 

They finish the bowl in another two hits, Simone’s hand wandering down, up under the hem of Brian’s shirt. She hums, pleased, when she skims over his hipbone and he flinches.

 

Simone puts the bowl on the coffee table and stretches out in her blanket nest. Her sweatshirt, three sizes too big, falls over her collarbone. Brian feels loose, painfully aware of the moment, his body tuned in to every sensation.

 

Fuck, this strain is good. Of course it is.

 

Brian says as much, and Simone chuckles. “I know. Honestly, sometimes I’ll get hold of this and then cook the best fucking meal of my entire week and then jack off for like an hour. Weird how somehow simple stuff just feels better, but if it works, I don’t wanna question it.”

 

“Makes sense,” Brian says, listing into her space. She pushes his hair off his forehead.

 

“Why’d you really come over?” she goads. Brian deflates a little, tries to scramble together an answer. “You could’ve lit up with Pat, easy.”

 

“You – uh. I don’t know, I thought you’d have more control over the situation?”

 

He doesn’t mean for it to come out as a question. He wishes tripping over his own thoughts in front of her was less exciting. 

 

Simone raises her eyebrows in response. “If you can’t ask, I don’t think you deserve to play, hm?”

 

Brian chokes on his own breath. Her hands curl around the glass of water on the coffee table. He wants her fingers closing around his throat.

 

There’s a very long pause. The shitty timer sound that Chopped uses as a transition to and from commercial breaks fills the silence. In any other situation, Brian would laugh his ass off at the irony.

 

“On Sunday you fucked me,” he starts, quiet, and she swishes the ice around, meeting his eyes.

 

“Mhm,” she responds, waiting him out.

 

“I liked it,” Brian adds. “I liked you making all the choices for me.”

 

“You’ve done kink before,” Simone says, deferring to Brian’s nod at the end of the sentence. “Ever something like this?”

 

“Not in a while,” Brian responds, soft. “I miss it, sometimes. And you’re –“

 

Simone smiles, knowingly.

 

“You’re so fucking good at what you do. You’re so fucking capable. It’s so hot.”

 

“Oh, you’re too sweet,” Simone deflects, but she’s smiling wider, pleased. She’s getting into the headspace, Brian can tell, and he wants her to eat him alive. “If we do this, right now, you’re staying the night, and we’re talking about it in the morning.”

 

“Yes, Simone,” Brian says, letting it slip out of his mouth, and watches a lazy smile spread across her face, feels her fingers tighten against his side. 

 

“Touch me,” she orders, plainly, putting the glass back down. “Slide your hands under my sweatshirt.”

 

Brian obliges. Her skin is soft, heart racing under the soft heat of her breasts. She tips her head back, humming in approval. “You’re doing well at this. Let me know how much you care.”

 

Brian swallows, presses a shaky kiss to her collarbone, and she grins. “Good,” Simone soothes, pressing a hand into his hair. “Now move down. Keep kissing me. You know where I want you.”

 

It’s crazy how his brain, which usually works overtime, can go so fucking silent when Simone directs him the right way. He’s full of ideas, most of the time, ready to get into a heated conversation with anyone who crosses his path, ready to prove himself through banter or whatnot. Then –

 

Well, right now is a great example.

 

Then Simone tugs him in, more of a suggestion than a follow through, and he meets her halfway, mouth going slack as she presses towards him. Then they’re kissing and Simone’s pulling him into her lap, his lanky thighs bracketing the easy curve of her hips, and he’s curling over her body, chasing the way she pushes and pulls him, switching the pressure or bite or pace at which each kiss bleeds into the next.

 

She doesn’t have to tell him he’s doing well. Brian knows, by how she pulls him closer, by how she guides his hand to the warm curve of her inner thigh, skimming over where she’s already hot and damp, waiting for him to touch her.

 

When she tucks his fingers under her waistband, Brian goes, easy, drops his middle finger just enough to drag up through her wetness, spread her slick up the seam of her cunt and keep her interested. 

 

“Slowly,” she breathes, and Brian swims through the fog in his head enough to flick the underside of her clit. Simone gasps under him, digging her nails into his bicep. ”Good,” she adds, voice surprisingly steady, and taps Brian’s shoulder until he’s sliding down, knees hitting the floor next to the couch, staring up at her as she lounges out, pleased, catlike in her elegance. There’s a sharpness in her eyes that Brian’s a little scared by. He wants to explore it, doesn’t want to ask.

 

Simone pets a hand through his hair, pulls his glasses off and places them on the couch. “There you are,” she says, and Brian exhales, closing his eyes, lets his face drop to her thigh. She hums in approval.

 

When she talks, her voice is casual. “It’s cute, how you’re too afraid to ask. How you think I don’t know just by looking at you that you’d let me use your body for anything I want.”

 

“Simone,” Brian breathes, feels something twist in his chest. 

 

“I’m surprised no one else has picked up on this yet. You’re very obedient, when I need you to be. I’d love to unravel you, edge you til you’re crying, then fuck around and watch awful TV for two hours while you demand that I touch you.”

 

“Oh,” Brian responds, dumbly.

 

“Would you like that?”

 

He nods.

 

“You gotta ask.”

 

“Yes. Yes, I’d love that.” It comes out a little more genuine than he’d like.

 

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself.” Simone tugs him up by his shirt collar, abrupt, standing, pulling Brian up with her. “Just like last time, you let me know if you need to safeword out.”

 

“Yes, Simone.”

 

“Good, Brian.”

 

Her voice is softer. He wants more of it. He wants to do whatever makes her talk like that again.

 

It’s not a long walk to Simone’s bedroom. The fact that she has an apartment with a little kitchenette and bathroom and living room is pretty impressive, for New York rent. Brian loves how cozy it is, how it seems like more than enough space to occupy but small enough that cleaning isn’t a Herculean effort.

 

Her bed is, much like her couch, also covered in several layers of blankets. Really, Brain thinks, the blankets-per-capita of her apartment is probably well above sane person levels, but he’s not going to be the one to suggest that she get rid of any of them.

 

“Come,” Simone commands, and Brian joins her, standing next to her bed. She pulls his shirt off in one smooth motion, but doesn’t look down at his torso once it’s off, just holds his gaze. 

 

“I’m not going to fuck you right now,” she continues, and Brian nods, understanding. He doesn’t care. He just wants to be touched, body buzzing with the glow of the weed and the anticipation of Simone looking at him, pitying, calculating. “You can come whenever you feel ready.”

 

“Okay,” Brian responds, voice thin. The edges of her bedroom are fuzzy without the help of his glasses, a surreal shallow-focus. Simone pushes him backward by the chest until he’s falling onto her bed, sprawling into the dent in the blankets. 

 

She pushes up her sleeves, steps out of her underwear and climbs onto the bed and over him, placing her hands firmly across the span of his ribs. Brian wants more pressure, wants more of this, all over.

 

“I’m going to strip you,” she says, and he nods, relishing the feeling of her fingers as she pushes down his sweats and boxers, lets the edges of the green blanket on top of the pile fall over his legs. Brian’s warm all over, surrounded by fleece and velvet and Simone’s thighs against his. 

 

Distantly, Brian realizes that he’s hard, after touching Simone on the couch. She doesn’t comment on it.

 

Her hair falls in her face as she sweeps her hands up his sides, thumbing at his nipples. “Pretty,” she says, reaching up to run her fingers over his collarbones. The contact feels  _ amazing _ , better than it should, the stimulation magnified. 

 

Simone knee-walks so that she’s over Brian’s hips, leaning forward and bracing herself on one hand while the other rests solidly under Brian’s jaw, over his throat. Brian shudders, lets a quiet noise escape him. She smiles, lowers herself so that the soft folds of her center are in line with his dick, a wet, tempting pressure.

 

“Fuck,” Brian manages, and then she’s kissing the breath of him, pressing down just a little harder over his Adam’s apple as she grinds back, squeezing his hips with her thighs when the head of his cock nudges her clit.

 

“I’m gonna get myself off like this,” Simone whispers, and Brian nods, tries to keep his hips still as she rocks forward in slow, long strokes. “You can touch me under my sweater.”

 

“Thank you,” Brian whispers back, nosing at the shell of her ear as she takes what she wants. When he reaches up and under the hem of her well-worn U-Dub sweater, he can feel her abs tensing and relaxing as she moves.

 

At some point, as the seconds bleed into minutes, Simone sits up, changing the angle a bit for what she needs. Her hand moves lower on Brian’s throat in the process, a lighter, sharper touch, but it’s  _ good.  _ Brian lays back and watches her, hands on her thighs, not daring to help if she hasn’t asked. It’s hot, the fact that she’s just taking what she needs, like it wouldn’t make a difference whether he was a toy or a pillow or something. It should feel worse. Mostly, he’s just enraptured by the furl of her eyebrows, the way her mouth drops open when she’s getting close.

 

“Simone,” Brian manages, quiet, pleading. She’s dripping now, slick getting on his thighs. “Please.”

 

She opens her eyes, arching an eyebrow, but doesn’t stop moving. “ _ Please _ what?”

 

“Please use me to get off,” he whispers, and she smiles, soft and wicked. “I promise I’ll be good.”

 

“You won’t come until I tell you?”

 

Brian nods, feels the heel of her palm dig in to his windpipe just a little more. 

 

“Good boy,” she says, and guides one of his hands under her body, presses two of his fingers to her opening. It’s cruel, how Brian thought he was actually going to get more, but Simone just angles herself between riding his fingers and getting stimulation on her clit until she’s gasping, cursing, squeezing at Brian’s throat as she comes, shuddering, endless and separate from any time passing around them. 

 

Brian’s so close, dick impossibly wet from the aftermath of her orgasm as she comes down, and she opens her eyes lazily to see him staring, reverent, stunned.

 

“You feel amazing,” Simone praises, removing her hand from his throat, dragging it through her wetness and over the head of Brian’s cock. Brian just about shouts. “Fuck.”

 

His mouth drops open, and he wants to beg, can’t find the words. “Oh,” is all he manages, and then she’s sliding her fingers into his open mouth, and the world narrows to just the musky, slightly bitter taste of her, and she’s grinding forward one last time, whispering “come, baby” in his ear, and he’s crying out as she fucks her fingers in and out of his mouth, gets at his nipples again. It feels earth-shattering, draining in a way that orgasms don’t usually feel, but when he takes a heavy breath and looks up at her, head spinning, she’s pulling her fingers back, holding him tight, kissing him firmly to ground him back in his body.

 

“That was so good,” Simone says, kissing his mouth, his nose, his cheeks, his forehead. “You okay?”

 

“Getting there,” Brian answers, honest, and Simone chuckles softly, running a hand through his hair. She grabs a tissue from the box on her bedside table, wipes down his stomach, helps tug his boxers up, leaving his sweats puddled around his knees. 

 

“Figured you’d want to be a little more decent,” Simone adds, humor coloring her tone, and Brian smiles, feeling himself start to surface. “You wanna wash up and put on Bake-Off on your laptop while I hold you some more?”

 

Brian nods, still a little bleary. He sits, rubs his eyes. The clock on the nightstand says half past ten. The edges of the  _ Brooklyn 99  _ poster on the wall look fuzzy. 

 

“Brian?” Simone says, calling his attention back to her. 

 

“Hm?”

 

“Get your glasses from the couch, too.”

 

“Okay,” Brian says, and smiles at her before pulling his sweats up, watching her settle into the blanket nest and move some pillows so that he’ll have a spot to share.

 

It’s hard, sometimes, for Brian to ask for what he wants. He washes his hands in the kitchen sink, then grabs his glasses and laptop, listening to Simone rummage around in her dresser for something. He decides he likes the sounds of them occupying the same space.

 

It should feel more dangerous, less comfortable, to be sleeping with someone he works with, let alone someone whose opinion he cares so much about.

 

Oddly enough, Brian’s thoughts are quiet, worry absent for the moment. 

 

He knows Simone’s waiting for him back in the bedroom.


End file.
